


A Knight in Rusty Armour

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Fluff, Friendship, Harry Potter Next Generation, Not Epilogue Compliant, Post-Hogwarts, Post-War, Romance, Second War with Voldemort, The Quidditch Pitch: Leaving Feast
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-11-16
Updated: 2008-11-16
Packaged: 2018-10-27 11:46:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10808400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: Six moments where Neville was there when Ginny needed him.





	A Knight in Rusty Armour

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

_Fourth Year_

“I’m sorry, Neville,” Hermione said, her voice kind and her expression regretful. “I’m honoured you asked me, truly I am; but I’ve already agreed to go to the Yule Ball with someone else. I don’t think anyone’s asked Parvati, though. You could ask her.”

“N-no, that’s all right,” Neville stammered, flushing at the rejection, kindly phrased as it had been. He couldn’t quite understand why she’d suggested Parvati as an alternative. She was the prettiest girl in their year, she and her twin Padma. He didn’t stand a chance.

Hermione flashed a final sympathetic smile his way before slipping through the portrait hole, heading for the library before it closed for curfew. Neville watched her go before making his way back to the table where he’d left his homework when he’d first spotted Hermione, only to find someone else sitting there. He opened his mouth, prepared to shoo off the interloper before he recognised Ginny Weasley. She was in the year below him and Ron, and not nearly as annoying as some of the other girls he knew.

“I hope you don’t mind if I sit with you,” she said, looking up at his approach. “All the other tables were taken.”

“Go ahead, I don’t mind.” Neville sat down in the opposite chair, reaching for his Transfiguration textbook and opening it back to the page he’d marked, picking up his quill.

“She’s going with Viktor Krum,” Ginny said suddenly, leaning forward, her voice dropping so only the two of them could hear. “That’s why she refused. She doesn’t want anyone to know.” She cast a meaningful look across the room toward Ron, who was engrossed in a game of chess with Harry and winning.

“Oh.” Neville was at a temporary loss for words. He _really_ hadn’t stood a chance then, given the choice between him and a visiting international Quidditch star. The knowledge made him feel better about the rejection, for some strange reason.

“You’re lucky, you know,” Ginny continued wistfully, and he looked up at her in surprise. “You’re fourth year, you can go to the Ball whether you have a date or not. I’m below the cut-off. I can’t go unless someone asks, and who’s going to look at a third year?” She leaned forward, pushing a sheaf of bright red hair over her shoulder. “Promise you’ll go and tell me all about it when you get back? I want to hear _everything_.”

Neville set down his quill again, meeting Ginny’s brown eyes. “I can do better than that,” he replied, letting the words tumble out before he could overthink and lose what little remained of his courage. “You could go with me. That way, you could see everything for yourself.”

Ginny’s eyes widened in momentary surprise, casting an oddly furtive glance toward Ron and Harry before looking back to Neville and giving his arm a squeeze. “I’ll go with you,” she replied, and grinned. “I need to owl Mum and let her know I need a dress for the ball! Oh, the other girls are going to be absolutely green!”

Sliding from her chair, she gave Neville another bright smile before hurrying toward the girls’ dorm, and Neville couldn’t repress a smile of his own as he turned back to his Transfiguration homework. It wasn’t often he was the cause of envy.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

_Fifth Year_

Neville heard the outraged shriek and the sounds of struggle from the corridor just ahead. His steps quickened, moving toward the sound rather than away despite his suddenly racing heartbeat and the surge of adrenaline flooding his system. His breathing seemed very loud, the corridor very empty, save for him and the yet-unseen combatants.

Peeking around the corner, his stomach lurched when he saw Ginny struggling with a hulking Slytherin seventh year he recognised by sight, if not name. She gave it her all, kicking, biting, and scratching while trying to reach for her wand to hex the older boy properly; but even to Neville’s inexpert eyes he could see it was a losing battle.

“Leave her alone!” he shouted, pulling out his wand and charging forward. His first spell missed by a wide margin, smashing harmlessly against the stone wall beyond. The Stinging Hex that followed hit its mark, and the Slytherin boy yowled, spinning to face him, using Ginny as a shield.

“Crabbe! Goyle!” the older boy bawled when Ginny sank her teeth into his arm. “Haven’t you finished with her yet? We’ve got company!”

“Yeah, Warrington, we got her,” Goyle grunted from a nearby alcove. Neville turned his head to find Crabbe and Goyle with a dreamily subdued Luna Lovegood. He had just enough time to absorb what that might mean before Crabbe lunged forward and tackled him.

The battle was brief, furious, and doomed to failure, ending with all three of them securely under Slytherin wandpoint. Luna remained limp in Goyle’s grasp, while Ginny continued struggling futilely in Warrington’s. Neville tried to breathe, but it was hard to do with Crabbe’s forearm clamped across his windpipe.

“I’m sorry,” Ginny mouthed to Neville, just before Warrington crammed a handkerchief into her mouth, gagging her.

“We’ll be okay, I promise,” Neville mouthed back, and then he was gagged as well, and the six of them made their halting way to Umbridge’s office.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

_Sixth Year_

Neville limped to the shore of the lake once Dumbledore’s funeral concluded, easing himself down onto the green grass with a sigh. Madam Pomfrey had let him out of the hospital wing so he could attend, but he was in no great hurry to return despite the pain in his leg and the healing ache in his chest. Closing his eyes, he tipped back his head, letting the sun fall warm on his face, drying the tears on his cheeks.

He remained there for several minutes in silence, opening his eyes again only when he heard someone sit down next to him.

“You’re supposed to be taking things easy,” Ginny chided him. “Madam Pomfrey warned you not to overdo.”

“I’m sitting on the ground enjoying the sun,” Neville replied equably, leaning back on his elbows. “I don’t think that’s overdoing. Between Madam Pomfrey, you and Luna, I don’t think I could if I tried.”

“And we’ll keep it that way until you’re better,” Ginny said with fierce determination, and Neville chuckled even though laughing still hurt.

Turning his head, he noticed Harry, Ron and Hermione some distance away, talking between themselves. “I figured you’d be over there with them,” he said, nodding in their direction.

He was surprised when Ginny’s ordinarily expressive face closed like a fist. “Harry broke up with me,” she said, her voice small and hard. “Just now, for some of the stupidest reasons.”

“He…did?” Neville ruthlessly quashed the slim tendril of hope the words brought; people his age broke up all the time, only to reconcile days or weeks later. He knew Harry spent a good part of his summer with Ron and Ginny. They’d be a couple again long before school started again in September. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Ginny shook her head. “He’s just being Harry. Noble and self-sacrificing and _dense_. He can’t honestly think You Know Who won’t try to get to him through his friends, whether they’re with him or not.” She hesitated, a small, humourless smile twitching her lips reluctantly upward. “Maybe he thinks everyone else will take care of me while he’s gone.”

“He’s right.” Neville shrugged. “I’ll look after you. Not that you need looking after, but you know what I mean.”

Ginny’s smile gentled as she rose to her feet, holding out a hand to assist him up as well. “I know you will. That’s one of the things I like about you, Neville. You don’t try to keep me wrapped in cotton wool. Now, let’s get you back into the castle. Madam Pomfrey will have my head if I bring you back all sunburnt!”

~*~*~*~*~*~

_Seventh Year_

It was over. The war was over, You Know Who – no, _Voldemort_ \- was dead, and they had won. The crushing exhaustion deep in Neville’s bones didn’t feel like victory, though. It just felt like exhaustion. He’d never been so tired in his life.

He’d seen Harry slip from the Great Hall earlier, accompanied by Ron and Hermione. He couldn’t blame him for desiring a bit of privacy, not really; but there was still so much to be done. It would be hours yet before he’d be able to find some time alone. He wasn’t sure he wanted to be alone with his own thoughts.

A beacon of bright hair snagged his attention and he turned, seeing Ginny sitting, small and forlorn with the rest of her family. He’d heard about Fred, but wasn’t sure if Ginny would find his presence welcome in her and her family’s time of grief. Chewing his bottom lip in torn uncertainty for a long moment, he finally started forward, sitting next to her, and nothing else.

“Hi.”

She turned at the sound of his voice, looking at him for a long moment. “Hi, Neville,” she said finally, her voice weak, lifeless. “Are you all right? You were brilliant out there, you know.”

“I’ll be all right, once I’ve had a chance to rest,” he replied softly, and groaned once the rest of her words sank into his tired brain. “I killed a snake, Ginny, that’s all. Harry asked me to do it and I did.” He sighed, catching her eyes. “I’m sorry. About everything.”

Ginny averted her gaze, blinking rapidly. “I’m sorry too,” she said, voice shaking slightly. “That wasn’t what I meant, though. You stood up to him, to You Know Who. No one else did.”

Shifting uncomfortably on the bench, Neville demurred, “I just got to him first. If I hadn’t someone else would have.” He looked up at her. “Right?”

He was being selfish. He was supposed to be comforting her, not the other way around. “I’m sorry,” he said again. “Do you need anything?”

“No, nothing. Not unless you can bring Fred back.” Ginny lifted a hand, brushing away tears almost angrily. “I _miss_ him.”

Neville slipped his arm around her shoulders. Ginny went into his embrace, slumping against his chest and hiding her face against his shirt. “I miss him too, even if he did test a lot of his and George’s products on me without asking. Remember the canary cream?”

Ginny laughed at that, but it quickly turned into a sob. Neville held her closer, feeling her shoulders shake, and let her cry.

~*~*~*~*~*~

_Nineteen Years Later_

The Welcoming Feast was over. Neville finished his last few bites of blackberry tart, still amused by James’ gobsmacked expression when his brother Al was Sorted into Hufflepuff.

Setting down his fork as the last of the students filed from the Great Hall, he told Minerva, “Busy day, tomorrow, Headmistress. I think I’ll go finalise my lesson plans.”

Back in his quarters, Neville sank into his armchair, running one hand through his hair before reaching for the folder holding his lesson plans for tomorrow. Second year Gryffindor/Hufflepuff, fourth year Slytherin/Ravenclaw, and sixth year NEWT-level students. There were thirteen of them this year, all girls, most of whom were taking the class because they fancied the professor more than the subject matter. Neville didn’t mind overmuch, so long as they actually concentrated on their studies. It was nice to be admired, even if he was no longer on the market, so to speak.

Scribbling a few notes in the margins, he glanced up when someone tapped at the door, setting the lesson plans aside. “Come in,” he called. “The door’s open.”

The latch clicked, admitting young James. “Mum sends her love,” he said without preamble. “Do you have any idea how weird this all feels? It isn’t as if she won’t see you this weekend anyway.”

Neville chuckled, beckoning the boy further into the room. “It’s an unusual situation, to be sure,” he admitted. “Does it bother you that much? Your classmates aren’t teasing you too badly, are they?”

“A bit of joshing, yeah,” James replied. “It’s not too bad. I tease right back, and if they go too far there’s always the Bulbadox powder Uncle George….oops.”

“I see.” Neville’s lips pursed to hide his smile. “You realise I should have you turn it over to me at your earliest convenience.” Giving up the attempt to hide his amusement, he smiled, adding, “Let’s just hope events don’t require its eventual use, hmmm?”

“Yes sir.” James grinned back, clearly relieved. “Actually, Al and Lily and I were talking earlier, and we had a question for you.”

“Oh? Let’s hear it.”

Toeing the carpet, James looked down at his feet, then up. “After you and Mum get married at Christmas, what are we supposed to call you? Professor Longbottom? Professor Neville? Professor Dad? Or do we drop the professor bit entirely?”

Neville breathed a sigh of relief, having been afraid James would ask something he wouldn’t be able to answer. “As it happens, your mother and I discussed the same thing not too long ago,” he replied. “We decided it would be best if you called me Professor Longbottom in the classroom and around other people during term just like everyone else; and the rest of the time you call me Neville, just as you’ve been doing. Does that seem an acceptable solution to you?”

“I – I think so.” James worried his bottom a lip a moment before nodding. “I’ll tell Al tomorrow at breakfast. I still can’t believe he’s a Puff!”

“Hufflepuff,” Neville corrected. “Some very good people came from that House. Don’t underestimate them.” Inwardly, he wondered how James would react in a couple of years when it came time for Lily’s Sorting. He couldn’t put a finger on why, precisely; but he had a strong hunch she would go into Slytherin. She was ambitious enough to fit there. “Tomorrow morning comes early. You should return to Gryffindor Tower. I’ll write you a pass.”

He watched James go, pass in hand, with bemusement. James, Al, and Lily seemed to have adjusted to the idea of their Herbology professor as their stepfather, which was good. He was more than happy to have them as stepchildren, and had no problems in treating them as his own.

~*~*~*~*~*~

_Twenty-One Years Later_

Neville held the newborn infant in his arms in awe. “Gin, he’s beautiful. He looks like you.”

“Oh, pish.” Ginny waved one hand, her smile tired yet accomplished. “His face is as round as yours, and his hair will be a darker red. I’m a Weasley, I know these things.”

“Far be it for me to argue with you, then.”

“You rarely do, unless it matters,” Ginny murmured, and Neville smiled.

“Did we ever decide on a name?” he asked. His parents were still alive, and the thought of naming his child after them while they still breathed had made him uncomfortable. George had already named his son after his lost twin, and Harry had named the children he’d had with Ginny after his own mourned dead.

“Cameron,” Ginny said at once. “Cameron Mitchell Longbottom.”

“Well then,” Neville said, looking down at his son, watching him yawn, “let’s call in the other kids so they can meet their brother.”

It was a good life for a knight in rusty armour.


End file.
